


Trouble Will Find Me

by Smutnug



Series: Chasing Eve [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Blindfolds, Consensual Non-Consent, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hair-pulling, Masturbation, Object Penetration, Porn With Plot, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutnug/pseuds/Smutnug
Summary: Eve does her best to save the world and navigate the dark shadows of her past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this will make more sense if you've read the first two works. The rest is in the universal language of smut.

He froze, and somehow that was the worst part.

He was supposed to be the one who knew what the fuck was going on. The one who talked her through the worst of it, who calmed her when her heart started racing, when the fear and confusion got too much.

Now they were all looking to her, but it was his people who were at stake, however the coin fell, and he was frozen.

The rain stung her face. Trickled down her neck and got in her eyes until she could hardly tell what was rain and what was sea.

What do you want, Bull? Don't make me read your mind.

“Sound the retreat,” she ordered, and he sagged, released a breath he probably hadn't known he was holding.

 

It was a long road home. No alliance but the laughter of the Chargers around them, their easy companionship. Bull was quiet but she saw him smile at their antics, shake his head at the worst jokes. She wished for the courage to take him by the hand and lead him to her tent, ask him to do all the things she'd thought about in the dark of her quarters.

_I'm sorry, Bull._ But that wasn't what he'd want to hear. What then? _You did the right thing._ But he just did what she told him to. The doubt then, the guilt, was hers. A handful of souls she knew, or a ship full of those she didn't. Every now and then she hated him, for freezing, for making that choice hers.

She wanted to take the pain away, for both of them, but she didn't know where to start. Was sex the first step, or the last? Did those words matter, _You don't know what this whore lets me do to her?_ It seemed like there should be some sort of shame attached, but she had nothing by which to measure. She just knew she wanted, wanted, and they both hurt.

_Just fuck me, Bull,_ seemed the simplest thing to say. But she'd said it a thousand different ways. He knew. Just didn't want her. Maybe there was something to this whore thing after all, some dirt that clung to her.

_ Tell me, Eve. How much whore is too much? How much of yourself should you give away when yourself is nothing at all? _

 

“You're a good man.”

It wasn't her words that really stuck with him, but her anger. All her fury finally directed at him, if in a roundabout way. It pierced through the fog that had surrounded him and made him wish for more. More of that rage, more of that anger, to help him feel again.

He'd let her down on the Storm Coast. Checked out and left her to make a choice that should have been his. It would take some time to make that up to her.

Forget her memory, or lack of. Forget the Qun, it didn't bind him any longer. Forget everything but her, spread out in front of him, tight around him, wet and hot and alive.

She was lost. She needed to be taken apart, piece by piece, and made whole again.

So he climbed the stairs and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

He had her wrists pinned above her head, raising her almost onto her toes, and it felt like freedom.

Before she could process that feeling he clutched a hand in her short hair and tilted her face up to to his. Instead of the expected kiss he took her bottom lip between his teeth and her whole body reacted, thighs clenching. Then his lips on hers, tongue exploring, drawing her own out to dance. A plaintive noise escaped her throat and he chuckled.

“Should have done this a long time ago.” His mouth found her neck and she squirmed and gasped. How could anything feel this good?

“Why didn't you?” Maker, was it normal to react this way to having your hair pulled? It was sadly missing from Varric’s romances.

_“Asit tal-eb.”_

What would he say if she asked him to pull harder? _You wouldn't believe what this whore lets me do to her. Begs me to do to her._ Minutes in and she was already nearly begging. _There's something wrong with you, Eve_.

“You were acting according to your nature?”

“No.” His hand slipped from her hair and she made a small sound of disappointment, changing to a desperate cry when he cupped between her legs, lifting her fully off the ground. “I am now.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist as well as she could, supported effortlessly by his broad hands. “About time.”

 

A new weapon. You had to get a feel for it, test it in your hands. Adjust your movements to the conditions: heat and cold, hands soaked with sweat or sticky with blood. See how it responded to changes in angle, shifts in weight. It was a dance, and your partner wasn't the guy coming at you but the weapon in your hands.

Bull catalogued her responses. The way the tension left her when she was pinned. The way she melted when he touched her neck. The tiny squeak when he let go of her hair, that was interesting. She was ready to go by now, he judged, and so was he. But he wasn't done testing.

When he was done plundering her mouth with his tongue, he lowered her to the ground. “Stand still,” he ordered. Marked how stillness was a struggle for her, now she was released. Her fingers danced at her sides as he unfastened her tunic, starting at the neck and just the brush of his fingers on her skin there had her breathing hard. By the time he pulled the garment off her shoulders she was shaking.

“Sit.” He knelt before her, unlaced her boots and pulled them off. Then the lacings on her leggings, noting with approval how she kept her hands clenched in the bedsheets, already not moving without instruction except to raise her hips when he tugged them down, careful to leave her smalls in place.

She was right there for the taking. She knew it, too, her eyes practically begging him to strip away that last impediment and bury his face between her thighs. _Soon_ , he promised.  _Soon._

A long piece of cloth covered her breasts, soft under his tongue as he circled her nipple then sucked, wetting the fabric and making her whimper and clutch the sheets harder. No fastening he could see at the front.

“Lie down. On your stomach.” She didn't hesitate to comply, and he rewarded her with a slow stroke up the inside of her thigh, the brush of a finger over the fabric covering her slit, already damp. “Arms above your head.”

There it was, an uncomplicated knot and he unravelled her, deliberately brushing the sides of her breasts as he pulled the fabric loose and smiling when it made her shiver. He was kneeling astride her, with a length of soft fabric in his hands. Too soon? Eve's cheek was pressed against the pillow, eyes barely open. When he ran his fingers down her spine they drifted shut. A firmer touch up her back, a gentle hand on her neck and she went limp, trusting.

“I'm going to tie your hands.” Her eyes flickered open in surprise, but she didn't protest. “Not tight. You'll be able to wriggle out if you want to.” He wrapped the band loosely around her wrists, tucked it rather than tying it and leaned in close to her ear. “You won't want to.”

Finally he turned her over, drinking in the sight of her. Flushed and panting, hands bound above her head. Her hair all tousled and her lips swollen from kissing, tiny drops of sweat beading between her breasts, and fuck that was a work of poetry in itself, the taut high peaks of her tits and her nipples like pink berries begging to be tasted. This sight alone could keep him going for weeks.

First. There were demons in this room. Things she needed to clear. He sat back and rested his hands on her knees.

“You don't like being trapped.”

“No.” She frowned, confused.

“But this is OK?”

“Yeah.” Now uncertainty crept into her voice.

“Why? Why is this different?”

She wriggled, craned to look up at her wrists. “Because it's you. I asked for this.”

“This is what you asked for?” Gently he pushed her knees apart and she flushed, suddenly self-conscious.

“What are you getting at?” A hint of annoyance, now. Good.

“I heard what he said.”

She shook her head. “Don't bring him in here.”

“He's already here.” He spread her legs further.

“No.”

“Did it bother you?” His hand ran up her leg and she shivered.

“No.”

“It didn't? To hear what you were like? All the things you knew you wanted, and you didn't know why.”

“The last man who tried to tell me what I wanted, I had thrown out of Skyhold.” Eve glared at him.

“You want me to go, then?”

“No. I haven't decided yet. You're starting to piss me off.”

He squeezed at her breast, just a little beyond discomfort. “Did it bother you, when he called you a whore?” At the sound of that word her body twitched. Interesting.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that's not me!”

Anger. He could use that. “What if it was?” His fingers hooked the waist of her smallclothes and drew them down.

“It's not. I didn't do those things!”

“Would it matter, if you did?” He freed her legs and threw the scrap of fabric away. Now she was bare, exposed and furious.

“Yes, it would matter!”

“Why?” His hand slid up her thigh.

“Because…” She was desperate for his fingers to climb higher, on the verge of tears. “Because if what he said was true, then he'd have power over me.”

“First lesson.” He slid a finger along her wet slit and she sighed. “He has no power over you. The past doesn't matter.” He found her entrance, damp and slippery with arousal. “Maybe you are what he says. Maybe it even gets you off a little, being called a whore. Maybe deep down,” and at _deep_ he pushed past her folds and slid one thick finger all the way inside her, “you know it's true.”

Her back arched. “No.”

“No? I guess you want me to take my finger out of you, then.”

“No,” she moaned.

“Second lesson, then.” He pushed a second finger in and her breath turned to shallow pants. He waited for her to adjust, feeling her juices run between his fingers. When she steadied he moved his fingers, rocking them gently in and out. “No shame. Nothing's right or wrong in here. Anything you need, you get. If you want me to fuck you blind, that's OK. Want me to call you a whore, tie you up, tie you down, I'm good with that. Don't be scared to tell me what you want.”

He pinched her nipple and she cried out.

“You like that?”

“I…”

“Say it.”

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Good girl. Now tell me what you want.”

“I don't know, I don't know.” The sound of his fingers moving in her was wet and obscene, the walls of her cunt clenching around him. She smelled like sex and sweat and ripe strawberries.

“You touch yourself?”

“No...yes.”

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly she opened her eyes.

“What do you think about?”

She blushed all the way down to her tits. “You,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Good.” Curled his fingers inside her and her head fell back on the pillow. “Eyes on me, Eve. What am I doing, when you think about me?”

“I...I can't.” He could see the effort it took her, but she didn't look away from him.

“You can.”

“Your - oh Maker, I can't. You're licking me. My... between my legs.”

He slid his fingers out of her. “See? That wasn't so hard.” Grabbing her legs he pushed them up and apart, settled her feet on his shoulders and then his tongue was stroking her cunt, slow then faster, building her to a frenzy. She came fast, too fast, but he wouldn't let up and before long her protests of discomfort became something higher, breathier and her legs shook as she came again and again, crying out to the Maker, to Bull, to nameless entities with wordless gasps and shudders.

He stroked her sides as she trembled, kissed the soft skin of her firm belly.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Oh.” There were tears in her eyes.

“Feeling ashamed?”

“Not a bit.”

“Good.” He grinned. “I'm not done with you yet.”


	3. Chapter 3

When he kissed her, she could taste herself on his tongue. _No shame._ She pressed into his mouth, savoured the feel of his lips on hers, his tongue now soft, now insistent, the scratchy feel of his cheeks. And his hands, still for the moment on her back. Just...holding. Holding her to his chest, her breasts pressed soft against him. Such a simple intimacy she felt something must come along soon to shatter it - time for assassins to burst in, or a dragon to bring the fortress down around them. Or _that_ , the worst sound of all, a rapping at the door downstairs.

“You’re not in.” He pulled her tighter.

“But,” she protested.

“No.” He held a thumb to her mouth to stop her lips. “Right now, you’re mine.” Prised her lips gently open, his thumb joined by his tongue.

The knock came again, harder. He growled and rolled on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. “No.”

“Bull…” He kissed her neck and her protest became more feeble. “It could be important.”

“If it’s that important, let them break the door down.” There was a fire in his eye now, a dark hunger. She could feel him hard and huge against her thigh. Big hands held her wrists down on either side of her head and he bent to her breasts, gave each taut nipple a flick with his tongue.

Another knock but now she didn’t care. She arched into him and he scraped her tender skin with his teeth, sucked hard at her breast. Everything was new, pleasure bordering on discomfort bordering on pain, and she wanted it all.

“Didn’t catch that, boss.” He licked at her navel and she whimpered. “You’ll have to speak up.”

It had been no more than a breath, a wish. Still self-conscious, she graduated to a whisper. “Fuck me.”

“One more time.” He bit down where her neck met her shoulder and this time it was a cry.

“Fuck me, Bull!”

He laughed. “Oh, is that what you said?” The bite was followed by an open-mouthed kiss, drawing her skin into his mouth. “Mmm, that’s gonna leave a mark.” He rolled off her. “First we gotta do something about these clothes.”

She moved cautiously, suddenly all too aware of her naked state. It didn’t help that Bull couldn’t seem to stop touching her as she worked at his harness, running his hands up her thighs and toying with her breasts.

“You’re distracting me,” she muttered.

“You should see it from this angle.”

The harness came free and she moved down the bed, out of his reach. He stayed propped up on his elbows, watching her as she worked on his boots and ankle brace. “Sit up,” he said. “I can’t see you properly.”

She straightened and put her shoulders back, meeting his face with a cool gaze.

“Oh, I like that.” He grinned. “One of these days I’ll make you touch yourself for me.” Her blush made him laugh.

“We’ll see.”

“No, _I’ll_ see. _You’ll_ probably be blindfolded.”

“You’re awful.”

“You have no idea how right you are.” His gaze travelled down between her thighs, up to her face and she felt a shiver of longing. “Come here.”

Slowly, deliberately, she crawled up his body. When she came within reach he growled and pulled her into a violent kiss. “Tease.”

Just his pants left, then. Eve sat back and looked at the buckle of his belt.

“It doesn’t need a lockpick, you know.”

“I know.” She bit her lip.

“It won’t bite. At least, it hasn’t yet.” He ran calloused hands from her shoulders down to her breasts, cupped them in his hands and waited for her to meet his eye. “Having second thoughts?”

“No.” Keeping her eyes on his, she went to work on the buckle. His thumbs traced distracting circles on her skin. “There.” Her fingers tugged at his waistband. “I’ll need your help.” She ignored the spring of his cock against his belly as she freed him, concentrated on getting the pants down and over his feet. Then stared at his calves, as massive and scarred as the rest of his body.

“Look at me, Eve.”

Brazen no longer, she shuffled up the bed. “Will it…? Can it…?”

Bull smoothed the hair back from her face. “It can, and it will. Here.” He took her hand and guided it down to wrap around his cock. Well, to nearly wrap around it. Her thumb and fingers didn’t meet. It was warm and firm and alive, and she felt the uncertainty in her belly turn into something deeper. He wrapped his fingers around hers and guided her hand up and down, gently squeezing and releasing.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I think so.”

“I’ll go easy on you. Unless you ask me not to.”

Her laugh came out a squeak. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” he said, and she kissed him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing between her thighs, rubbing at her most sensitive parts. Her breath quickened. “Hang on, boss,” he groaned. “Wait for me.” Grabbing her wrists, he rolled her onto her back. “Now, do you wanna be tied?”

He saw her hesitation. “Tell you what,” and he shifted her up the mattress, moved her hands behind her to grip the headboard. “Oh, that’s good,” he growled. “Makes your tits look great. I’ve gotta remember that one.” Presumably to help his memory, he squeezed them in his hands. “Now,” he said, sitting back on his knees and pulling her legs to either side of his body. “Need to get warmed up?”

“No.”

“Sure?” He ran a finger between her legs and she bit her lip to smother a cry. “You’re right. And don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, pulsing between her legs.

“Keep quiet. I want to hear you.” He stroked his cock once, twice, and positioned himself between her thighs. “Ready?”

“Have been for months, Bull.” She still gasped as he pushed inside her, agonisingly slow. Rocking out and back in, a little further each time, letting her stretch around him.

“Oh, that’s...fuck. How’s that feel?”

“I could take more.”

“I fucking bet you could.” He sheathed himself inside her and paused, breathing hard. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re going to be trouble, I can tell.” He shook his head. “Fine, tell me if you need me to stop.”

“You’ll be the first...ah...to know.” Her head drifted back as he rolled in and out, big hands on her hips almost meeting behind her back. He fucked her slow and hard and she felt full, so full, friction reaching places she was sure had never been touched before, the drag of his cock inside her sparking flames that ran through her body.

She let him hear every cry, every whimper, every gasp, let each roll of his hips push her back towards the headboard. The position of her arms caused her back to arch with each thrust, and each time she arched he thrust a little harder, until she thought the end must be close.

“Hey.” When she didn’t open her eyes there was a light slap across her face. Her eyes flew open, outraged.

“What?”

He prised her fingers from the headboard and lifted her into his lap, and she gasped when the full length of him came to rest deep inside her.

“Hit me.”

“What?” she said again, dumbfounded, her mind still hazy with sex.

“You heard." Punctuated by a sharp buck of his hips and a gasp torn from her throat. "Hit me.” There was no trace of humour in his face.

“I’m not going to hit you, don’t be stupid.” Fingers pinched her nipple and twisted, and she cried out.

“Wasn’t asking.”

“What the fuck, Bull!”

“Do it,” he growled.

She slapped him on the chest.

“No. Harder, on the face.”

“Why?” she cried.

“You know why.”

“I don’t!” Her hips rocked against him, needing to feel him move inside her, needing completion.

He pinched her again and she lashed out, landing an open-handed slap on his cheek.

“Better. Again.”

She didn’t need telling this time. It was harder, but still probably hurt her hand more than him.

“Good. Now what was that for?”

“I don’t know.” She was frustrated in more ways than one, on the verge of tears.

“You know. What was it for?”

Her head shook, mute.

“Do it again.”

She slapped him.

“Why?”

“Fuck you, Bull!” she spat.

“Better. Keep going.”

“You made me choose!” she screamed. “You checked out and left it all to me. All those people." Now the tears came. "I shouldn't have had to do that alone.”

Bull grunted in approval. “Good girl.”

She snapped, backhanding him across the face, pounding him with her fists until finally he caught her wrists. “That’s enough,” he said gently.

“I hate you,” she muttered.

“Good. I let you down.” He was finally moving her now, rocking her body gently back and forth.

“Don’t do it again,” she moaned.

“I won’t. I won’t.” He raised his hips to meet hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she rested her head against his shoulder, let him lift her up and drop her down, pumping her tight around his cock until her nails dug into the back of his neck and every fibre of her being begged for release.

The pressure inside her grew and spread with each steady thrust and finally she shattered and screamed out for all of Skyhold to hear. Closed her eyes and saw a bright white beautiful heaven as he spilled deep inside her.


	4. Chapter 4

Music. Bull froze on the stairs. He'd expected she'd be alone and he wasn't used to being surprised. Who, then? It was late for company. A lute, the melody intricate and sad. The tavern minstrel? They weren't even friends, surely.

Well, he was here now so he may as well head up. It wasn't like the door had been locked. But when he rounded the top of the stairs it was just Eve, cross-legged on the bed, head bent over the lute.

The tune came to a finish and she turned to face him, cheeks wet with tears. If he'd walked in on her naked he couldn't have felt more of an intruder.

“Didn't know you played.”

“Neither did I.” Eve looked at her hands, wondering who they belonged to. “I couldn't sleep. Just thought I'd pick it up, and…” She shrugged.

“What was the song?”

“I don't know,” she said sadly. “It has words...I can almost…No.”

Bull lowered himself onto the bed. “Know any others?”

“Yeah…” Her fingers moved over the strings, snatches of melody, quick and silvery like water over rocks.

“Couldn't sleep, huh?”

Her fingers stilled. “You're up.”

“I can see your lights from my room.”

“Your room has no windows.”

“You make a good point, boss.”

“I just…” She put the lute aside. “I felt…Couldn't sleep.”

“You should write the words yourself. You're a real poet.”

“Ha.” It wasn't laughter. Not really.

He could admit, if only to himself, that he'd been worried it might be a one time thing. That he'd scared her off and she'd go looking for something easier. But then she'd come to see him in the tavern, and they'd wound up back here...the only thing he was sure of now was that he hadn't reached her limits yet.

“Come get me next time,” he said. “You're not the only one sitting awake.”

“Didn't want to bother you.”

He slid a hand around the back of her neck. “Yeah. You're a real bother.”

“Anyway, you found me.”

“I won't next time. Maybe you'll work out how to speak Orlesian or set people on fire.”

“I can't set people on fire by myself.” Her eyes drifted shut as he stroked her neck.

“Sure you can.” He kissed behind her ear. “You can do anything.”

“You staying?”

He pulled her into his lap. “Just try getting rid of me.”

“Can we do something...uncomplicated?”

Her tunic was already halfway undone. “Is rope complicated?”

“Mmm...I don't have rope.”

He slipped a hand under her breastband. “I do.”

“You're very confident.” She wriggled in his lap and he felt himself hardening.

“Bull…”

“Shh,” he said. “I'll do all the work.”

 

He wasn't lying. She didn't have to move, couldn't move. Lying limp and boneless on her stomach as he thrust into her, crisscrossed by ropes and with a scarf between her teeth that wouldn't really silence her if she chose to make a noise, but gave him something to hang onto.

 _Is it wrong?_ Should she cling to this feeling of helplessness? Of being entirely at his mercy? Yet somehow it was the first thing to make sense since she stumbled out of the breach. Wrists lashed to ankles, her thighs spread open for him. 

No dissecting the past, no fearing for the future. Just Bull, warm and solid and real, filling her and holding her still, taking choice away and with it responsibility, taking the burden of command.

Forget Eve Trevelyan and her clever hands, those hands were bound now and it was good, it was simple and pure and oh fuck fuck fuck so good. She squealed and he bucked and came inside her and the wild feelings left her, for now.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a short fight, and brutal. Bull took out the big guy with an axe from shoulder to groin. One bandit left, a wiry man with daggers and Eve took him down easily, a parry and a slash to the wrist, the next stroke opening his throat.

Something in Bull’s mind clicked.

“Do that again.”

“What?” She flicked the blood off her knives, gave them a quick wipe on her coat before they were sheathed.

“That thing you just did.”

“The killing?” She poked the bandit with her foot. “He's kind of dead, Bull. And we don't have Dorian.”

“Just - show me that last move.”

“I don't remember it. And we haven't cleared this fortress yet, in case you hadn't noticed all the bandits.”

“Is there a problem?” Cassandra called from upstairs.

“No problem, we're on the way!” She stared at him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He watched her after that. It was subtle, but he kicked himself for not having seen it earlier. Not enough to run it by her though. Not yet.

 

“That was it.”

“What?” She paused, blunted dagger at his throat.

“The thing! Do it again.”

“This?” The same set of moves, parry, strike, strike.

“Wait there.” He took off across the practice yard.

“What the fuck are you doing, Bull?”

“I'm getting Red,” he called. “Don't move.”

“Bull?”

 

“You see it?” Bull asked.

“Yes.” Leliana circled her, watched the flick of her wrist, the movement of her feet.

Eve let the daggers fall to her sides, exasperated. “What?”

“Bard moves,” said Bull.

“Bard?” She knew only what she'd read. Minstrels, spies, assassins. Ruthless and often treacherous. “Surely there are only so many ways you can fight with daggers.”

“It's more than that,” Bull said. “The moves are different. It's like a signature.”

Leliana was silent.

“You knew.” Bull narrowed his eye. “This isn't news to you.”

“I suspected, yes.” The spymaster’s face was, as always, inscrutable. “I had no evidence.”

“What’s this?” He gestured to Eve, looking dumbly between them.

“It is compelling, certainly. Not enough to be sure.”

“What the fuck are you both talking about?” But Bull’s focus was on Leliana, still and dangerous.

“How long?”

“It is not important.”

“It's important.” His jaw was set hard. “You let her walk into a trap.”

“Please,” Eve said. “Stop talking around me.”

“Orrick.” Bull was still staring at Leliana.

“It made no difference.”

“Bullshit. If she's a bard - “

“Pure speculation, at this stage.”

“If he was her patron - “

“Enough!” Finally they looked at her, and her voice dropped to a furious whisper. “Sister Leliana, if you have information to share with me then you will do so. Bull, if you want to be a part of this conversation you will join us in the War Room. _Now._ This is not happening in the _fucking_ practice yard.”

 

Hours later Eve leaned back against the war table, exhausted. Too much information in her head, names and connections and intrigues, and they were no closer to the truth, not really.

She was a bard, or she wasn't. Orrick was her patron, or her bardmaster, or merely her fiance. Spies all over Thedas, and nobody knew a fucking thing.

“Boss.”

She groaned. “What do you want?”

“They're all gone.” He hung back. “You OK?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He put a hand on her shoulder and she froze.

“Hey. It's me.”

“When did you know?” Her voice sounded dead in her ears.

“I didn't.”

“But you suspected.”

His hand fell from her shoulder. “Crestwood.”

“You didn't tell me.”

“I wasn't sure.”

“Isn't that what Leliana said?”

Knives in the shadows. Knives, knives, knives.

“It's not the same,” Bull said. “She let him in. She let you walk into that room with him.”

She turned and rested her head on her arms. “I'm so sick of walking around in the fucking dark.”

She felt his hand on her back. “Tell me how to reach you.”

Was it a laugh, or a sob? “You know. You fucking know.”

“You want that?” His breath in her ear, hands on her waist. “Here?”

Silent, she pushed back against him. He wanted it, she could feel him, hard and heavy.

His hands ran up her sides. “You sure?”

“I thought you were meant to be in charge.” There was such bitterness in her voice. Was that her, or Eve? Eve the maybe-bard. _Go away Eve. I hate you._

Fingers tangled in her hair, pulled it tight. _Finally._

“That's right.” He pushed her down, her face against the table, map markers scattering under her hands. Rough fingers tugged at her laces, leggings and smallclothes were yanked down to her thighs. “I'm in charge.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

And then he was in her, still tight and not quite wet, the width of him pushing and burning her. She surrendered utterly. His hands dug painfully into her hips, pulled her back against him, uncomfortably deep.

Bull leaned down, his bulk pressing her into the table. “Is this what you want?” Slow, hard, unrelenting.

“Yes,” she whispered.

A hand left her hip and grasped her hair again. Pulled hard, so hard.

“This?” he growled in her ear.

“Yes. Yes.”

He slammed into her, and markers scattered in Nevarra. 

“This is all you are. The rest doesn't matter.”

Faster, faster. His elbow between her shoulder blades, holding her down. A gasp escaped her.

“Shut up.” He thrust inside her, short and shallow and hard. His other hand left her hip and found hers and she twined her fingers through his.

That's how they came, hands clasped, hair pulled, mess spilling down her thighs as she breathed hard against the Hinterlands.

“Forgive me?” he whispered.

Fingers squeezed between hers. “Always.”


	6. Chapter 6

Bull tied off a knot and knelt back, pleased with his handiwork. It was beautiful the way her body stretched like this, wrists suspended from the bedpost, knees just barely resting on the floor. He hadn't touched her except to tie her up and already she was breathing fast and hard. On edge, not knowing where the next touch would come from. The blindfold would heighten her other senses, make her strain for each rustle of fabric and creak of floorboards, trying to track his movements.

These were his favourite times. Slow, deliberate, elaborate. There were other times when she'd get filled with restless energy, looking over her shoulder, scared and angry and vulnerable. He'd found the best way to snap her out of it was to let her be fucked like an object, thrown around limp and without agency, used and spread and soiled. She'd get so wet when he called her _cunt,_ _whore,_ told her she was nothing more than a hole to stick his dick into. Afterwards her eyes would follow him in wordless gratitude as he washed her gently clean, pulled her close and murmured that if they wanted her, they'd have to fight through him.

Tonight...tonight she was just a little tense, nervous about Halamshiral. Tonight called for a soft scarf around her eyes, for silky rope around her wrists and forearms, crossing her tits, wound around her thighs. And one loose end...he leaned in close and smiled when the brush of his fingers on her thighs startled her. Drew the rope forward between her legs and gave it an experimental tug, and she moaned at the soft friction between her lips. Pulled slower, higher, and when it rubbed her clit she just about keened, arching against her ties, her tits drawn up high and tight and her thighs quivering. So ready, if he wasn't careful she'd come just like that and he'd have to work her back up again. Not that that couldn't be fun.

“Like that, do you?”

Eve whimpered in response, and he gave the rope another, sharper tug. “Yes,” she gasped.

He kept a gentle upward pressure on the rope and wet his finger thoroughly in his mouth before sliding it around one nipple and then the next, giving the second a little tweak between thumb and forefinger.

“Bull...I can't...I'm going to…”

“No you're not.” He dropped the rope and let it dangle and she almost cried in disappointment.

“Here.” He held out one hand, middle finger curled up. “Find me.”

Her head moved in a futile effort to see. Arms stretched as she strained her hips forward, close, so close to touching his hand.

“Little further,” he murmured. Fucking beautiful, the way every muscle stretched and quivered, her lip caught between her teeth in concentration, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The brush of damp hair against his finger and she whined. It took all his effort not to grab her and plunge his fingers into that wetness, but that wasn't the game. At last her cunt found the tip of his finger and he dipped inside her, just to the first knuckle.

“Good.” He relented, shifted a little closer to make it easier for her to slide down onto his finger with a low moan of satisfaction.

Oh, that tight wet heat. He pushed a second finger inside her and waited, motionless.

She hesitated, confused, waiting for movement. When it didn't come she gave a tiny tilt of her hips, testing. If she was wrong he'd pull his hand back, leave her hanging and empty. He didn't, and her relief was immediate. Sure of herself now, she pulled against her bindings, hips rolling back and forth. Fucking herself on his hand. Watching her move, hearing the wet sounds and her needy moans, his hand reached for his cock and stroked its thick length.

Finally he could wait no longer. He drew his hand out and licked it clean, then pulled her towards him and onto his cock. Her legs straddled his waist and he pounded into her, pinched her clit between his fingers and he thought for a moment she might break the bedpost, or herself, with the force of her orgasm, the way she arched and cried and shuddered.

When he finally pulled out and untied her she slipped into his arms, boneless.

“Let's stay here for a minute,” she breathed. “I just want to feel you at my back.”

Bull lowered her to the ground, back pressed to his chest and felt the soft huff of her breath against his arms. “Worried?”

“Scared shitless.”

He stroked her hair. “It's just Orlais.”

“There is no 'just Orlais’. It's a viper’s nest and I'm a mouse.”

He squeezed her and she gave a weak groan of protest. “Ever cornered a mouse? Those little fuckers have sharp teeth.”

“Why would I corner a mouse?” she grumbled.

“That's a story for another day.”

They were silent for a while, lying warm and sticky on the carpet.

“Bull?”

“Yeah boss.”

“What if people know me?”

He stroked broad fingers down her hip. “Everybody knows you. You're the Inquisitor.”

_“Bull.”_

“Would it be a bad thing?”

She considered. “Only if they want me dead.”

“If there's one thing we know from experience, it's that people don't need to know you to want you dead.”

“You always know the right thing to say.”

“We'll have your back. Me, Varric, Red, Cullen. I bet Josie's got some moves she hasn't shown us. And Viv - if anyone pisses her off, she'll freeze them. Maybe literally.” He nipped her earlobe. “We'll be careful.”

“No-one’s careful all the time.”

“I am.”

She laughed. “I wouldn't have guessed it!”

“Oh, you'd know if I wasn't. There'd be broken bones, ruptured organs, all sorts of nasty shit.”

Eve twisted to look at him. “I don't suppose you're talking about battle?”

“In a way.” He grinned wolfishly. “Did you want to get cleaned up yet?”

It was her turn to grin, twisting around in his arms. “No,” she said. “It would be a waste to do it twice.”

“Hungry little mouse.” He pinned her to the floor and she squealed in delight.


	7. Chapter 7

“Seen anything?” Eve asked. “Like maybe an escape route through the kitchens? A rift big enough to swallow everybody? Dragons?”

“You’re doing fine.” Bull stood propped against a table like this was his element. It would take a trained eye to see the hidden tension in his shoulders, the intensity of his focus as he scanned the room for trouble. “Didn’t know you could dance.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many hidden talents." She leaned on the wall next to him. "Really well hidden.”

He smirked. “They’re not all that well hidden.”

“True, but they usually need a bit of...digging. Oh Maker, Vivienne is waving me over. What does she want?”

“She wants to tell you to stand up straight. And that your sash is crooked.”

“My…?” She looked down.

“Gotcha.”

She glared. “You are a child.”

“You’ll have to spank me, later.”

“The night is young, Bull. Don’t tempt me.”

He nodded to Vivienne. “Sure you want to keep her waiting?”

Muttering a curse, she made her way towards the former Imperial Enchanter. An elbow bumped her as she passed a group of masked nobles, and their faces turned her way.

“To think,” said a woman in a pale green mask and impossibly wide skirts. “A Trevelyan, keeping the company of apostates and heretics. What _would_ your parents say?”

She gave a cursory bow. “I’m afraid I don’t know, my lady.”

“Ah, yes.” The woman looked her up and down. “The memory loss. It’s quite the fashion amongst the young ladies now - how ever did you come up with it?”

Eve paused, dumbstruck. “How…”

“My dear.” Vivienne somehow looked regal even in the hated ceremonial clothing they’d been made to wear. “It has been an age.”

“Madame Le Fer!” The noblewoman simpered. “Don’t you look well.”

“And you too, my dear. I remember how darling that hat looked on you last year, as well. Such a conceit, is it not, to imagine that one must change one’s clothes for every formal occasion?”

The woman's skin changed colour to better match her mask. “Ah, I see my cousin. Please excuse me.”

“Of course.” Vivienne watched her scurry away before turning to Eve. “Inquisitor, I must introduce you to friends of mine from Montsimmard. The Marquis and Marquise d’Harcourt, may I present Lady Eve Trevelyan, the Inquisitor.”

Eve exchanged pleasantries, with the distinct feeling she was part of some larger game the enchanter was playing.

“Trevelyan, is it?” The Marquis seemed to have been sampling the Empress’s wine with some enthusiasm. “I know some Trevelyans. Not the Ostwick branch though, odd bunch. Very traditional.”

“Traditional?” Eve asked. They were known to have ties to the Chantry - she would have thought adherence to tradition would be a point in their favour.

“My dear Phillipe, I’m sure the Inquisitor does not wish to discuss her family’s politics.”

He waved a dismissive hand at the Marquise. “No great supporters of the...er, shall we say, progressive agenda favoured by the Chantry of late. Sympathy for the mage rebellion, that sort of thing. Bann Trevelyan - your father, I suppose? - was quite outspoken against Divine Justinia’s appointment, was he not?”

“I’m afraid I don’t recall, Your Grace.”

“No?” He peered at her. “Well, you would have been quite young at the time.”

“Uh...I...yes. Indeed, Your Grace.”

“Inquisitor.” Leliana had materialised at her side. “A word, if I may.”

“Of course. Your Graces, Madame Vivienne, if you’ll excuse me.” She bowed and took her leave. “Leliana, did you know that my family was opposed to Justinia’s election? I don’t remember you mentioning it.”

“In recent years they declared support for the Divine.” Leliana shrugged. “Now, our scouts have reported suspicious activity…”

 _Is this important, Eve?_ Nobody else seemed to think so. Best to focus on one mystery at a time, and not to imagine the slither of vipers in every darkened corner.

 

“All done?”

“Well it's nearly dawn, and nobody's managed to assassinate the Empress.” She turned to Bull. “What, no lecture for letting you creep up behind me?”

“You knew it was me.” He rested a hand on her back and she leaned against him.

“I've been wrong before.”

“You've gotta make mistakes to get better,” he said.

“But you don't usually know they're mistakes when you're making them.”

“What doesn't kill you…”

“Leaves you with no memory, no family and branded with a magical rift-closing hand thingy.”

“That's what they say, yeah.” He moved to stand behind her, running his hands up her arms to work firm fingers into her shoulders. “I like this uniform on you.”

“You _do_?”

“Sure. Leaves a little something to the imagination.”

She snorted. “It leaves everything to the imagination.” His hand moved to the high collar and his thumb brushed the bare skin of her throat. “Now that's just playing dirty.”

His hands slid down to her hips and he leaned in close to her ear. “No, _this_ is playing dirty.” Moving up and under her long jacket, drifting up her legs.

“Bull…”

“Might be hours til we get back to our rooms,” he murmured. His fingers slid between her thighs and a thumb traced the seam of her pants. “Nobody's out here.”

Eve wriggled. “Can I say no?”

Such big hands - he should really have more trouble with the fastenings at her waist. “Sure, if that makes it more fun for you.”

 _Katoh._ She hadn't forgotten the word.

“Please Bull, no.” His fingers dipped below her waistband. “No, we shouldn't.”

Bull chuckled. “Naughty.”

“Stop...no...ohhhhhhhh.”

“Now who's playing dirty?” He pressed her up against him and she felt him hard against her back.

“Bull, please, I can't…” Eve doubled over, giggling. “I can't. It's too funny.”

“Funny, is it?” he growled. “We'll see.” His hand slid out of her pants and he grabbed her waist and lifted her off the ground.

“What…? Put me down. Bull!” she hissed. She prised at his arms but they were unmoving.

“I will.” He moved away from the doors, into a shadowy corner of the balcony.

Before she knew what was happening she was deposited on her feet and had her back pressed hard against the wall, mouth trapped in a crushing kiss. He yanked her pants down around her thighs and knelt before her.

“Oh no Bull, this is not happening…”

“It's happening.” Then his face settled between her thighs and thought fled. She held tight to his horns, her legs threatening to give way as he plunged his tongue deep inside her, now hard, now soft and slippery. She moaned behind closed lips, and felt as much as heard his low chuckle. 

Too much sensation, the scrape of his stubble on the inside of her thighs, his strong hands kneading her flesh, his lips and tongue exploring every wet inch of her. When she wasn't sure she could stand any longer he lifted her onto her toes, sucked hard at her clit until the world seemed to explode around her.

"Fuck," she whispered finally. "How are you even real?" 

"Oh, I'm real." Bull stood, righting her clothes with hands that were surprisingly deft, if you didn't know what they were capable of. 

Eve reached under his tunic, rubbing his hard length where it strained against the silky fabric. "Yes, you are," she said throatily. 

"Ah, boss...we should probably get back to the party." Bull licked his lips, his jaw clenching as he tried to fight the tension building in his groin. 

"Soon." She lowered herself to her knees, careful not to scuff her uniform. "It wouldn't be diplomatic of me not to return the favour."

 

“That went well, don't you think?” Josephine smiled brightly as they waited for their carriage to come around the front of the palace. “How were the uniforms?”

“Oh, good,” Eve said. “Pretty good.” She smoothed her jacket down awkwardly. “I, um, wish they had pockets, though.”

“Oh, Inquisitor! I am sorry. Antivan tailoring.” Josephine slipped a hand into the entrance of her own pocket, hidden in a seam under her arm. “I should have told you earlier.”

“Really? Weird place for a pocket.” Eve searched along her own seam. “Huh! And there's something in it.” Her fingers retrieved the tiny roll of paper. “Does everybody have one of these?”

She looked up to find them all staring at her.

“May I, Inquisitor?” Leliana unfurled the paper and scanned it quickly.

“Let me guess,” said Varric. “It says 'Made in Antiva’."

The spymaster handed it back to Eve. “It says, um,” she smoothed out the paper with her thumbs. “Well it more or less says stop asking questions or we'll kill you. Which is me. It's addressed to me.” She poked again at the pocket. “How…? That's sort of impressive. I didn't even know there was a pocket there.”

“Well, shit,” said Varric.


	8. Chapter 8

“I don't understand.” Eve said. She resisted touching the scrap of paper - she had worried it in her fingers on the way back to Skyhold until it threatened to crumble. “I didn't think we'd really found anything.”

“We are revisiting our intelligence reports,” said Cullen. “It appears we have struck a nerve.”

“And we're not going to stop, right? I mean it's not our priority, obviously, but…”

The advisors exchanged glances. Leliana spoke up. “Twice now, assassins have breached Skyhold’s defences.” She looked to Josephine. “And your duties as Inquisitor take you to places where it is more difficult to defend you.”

“Yes, but we killed those assassins. And I'm not defenseless.”

“It seems an unnecessary risk, Inquisitor. Perhaps once Corypheus is defeated…”

“Fuck. Fine.” She dug her fingernails into her palm. “I guess they win, then.”

“If we should come across more intelligence by chance, we will of course bring it to you.” Josephine hovered, sympathetic. “We have several bard contacts, and people keeping an eye on your...on your former betrothed.” She cleared her throat. “Something is bound to come up. We must just be more...circumspect.”

“I understand.” Eve forced a smile. “Now, Halamshiral. I assume there's a mound of paperwork to get through?”

 

Bull found her on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you ever think she's in here?”

“Er...I guess you mean Eve?” He sank down next to her.

“Yes. Like, she's stuck in my head, looking out my eyes, just sort of...screaming to get out.”

“That's sort of creepy.” Thinking of it made his horns itch.

“Right?” She turned her head to look at him. “Wonder what she thinks of you.”

“Arrgh, stop that.” He put a finger to her mouth. “Anyway, it's a silly question. She thinks I'm great.”

Her lips curved in a smile against his finger and arousal stirred low in his belly. There was that look in her eyes, the hitch in her breath, the slight parting of her lips. Not a question, but an offer and a command all at once. Not for the first time, he wondered which of them was really in control.

“Slow tonight, I think.” The very tip of his finger pushed between her lips and her tongue darted against it. He traced over her bottom lip, tilted her chin up to expose her pale neck. She swallowed, and he felt the movement of her throat. His finger hooked in the neck of her tunic. “Undo this.”

Eve followed his instructions to the letter, unfastening the clasps of her tunic and leaving it in place while she returned her hands to her sides. He unwrapped her carefully, like a gift, baring her skin inch by inch. Then sat back, just looking.

She grinned. “See anything you like?”

“Well…” He picked up where he'd left off, resting his finger in the hollow of her throat before dragging it slowly down. “This is alright, I guess.” Her sternum, slower through the dip between her breasts. “I like this, too.” When he reached her ticklish stomach she shivered, holding down the urge to squirm. He teased, ghosted down then circled back up, around her navel, under the curve of her breasts.

“These…” He ran his fingertip in smaller and smaller circles around her breast. “These, I think I'll keep.” The lightest brush against her areola, then away, tracing the same pattern on the other breast.

“They look better on me.” She was trembling now with the effort of keeping still, breathing shallow through her nose.

Bull laughed. “True. I'll just have to take the whole package.” He finally relented and took both breasts in his hands, cupping and fondling them. She took in a deep lungful of air then, chest heaving as if she'd been running uphill. “Easy,” he murmured. “Just getting started.”

It would be kinder to tie her up. But he needed her to feel it tonight, control over this body. Her body. Her will, keeping everything in place when her body screamed for her to demand more.

He was proud of how quickly she understood, moving to follow instructions and when she was done, shifting right back to position. A finger flicked against the ties on her leggings. “Now these.”

Her eyes stayed on him as her fingers took the ends of the laces and drew them apart, releasing the tie at her waist. Then pulling, loosening, inching the fabric down over her hips, tantalisingly slow. She paused for him to say “Hips up,” then eased them down over her thighs. “I'll take it from here,” and she sank back down, let him bare her legs the rest of the way.

“Knees up.” She obeyed. “Spread,” and she did, wide without being told.

He bent between her thighs and inhaled the smell of sex and strawberries. Was it a soap she used, he wondered, or just the way she smelled? The strawberries, that is. He knew where the sex came from. He licked her there, dragging the thin fabric against her cunt, adding his dampness to hers.

“What do you want to do right now?” he asked. “What's your body telling you to do?”

She was trained well, could answer his questions now without embarrassment. “I want to buck up against you,” she said, voice shaking a little. “I want to pull my smallclothes down and push your face between my legs.”

“Why don't you?” There were several answers that might all be true, but he was just looking for one.

“Because it's my body.”

“Good.” He tugged her smallclothes off and smiled in approval when she spread her legs wide again without prompting. “And?”

“I'm in control. I tell it what to do.”

He blew, cool and soft against her glistening slit and she shuddered. “Who are you?”

“Eve.”

A flicker of his tongue, just a taste. “And who else is in _your_ body, Eve?”

“Nobody.” He heard the smile in her voice and looked up to see her wicked grin. “Not yet.”

 _Good girl._ He slid his hands under her hips, pushed his tongue through her folds and thrust it inside her, long and wide and sinuous. In and out, twisting and curling, warm and slippery around her clit then flat and firm over the length of her slit. Then back to fucking her with hard strokes, then soft, then hard, over and over.

He pushed her over the edge again and again, coaxing her oversensitive flesh back to hunger. And she shuddered, panted and cried and _screamed,_ but otherwise didn't move an inch even though her legs shook hard with the effort. Nobody in there but him, nobody pulling the strings but her.

"Enough," he said before he buried himself in her warm, wet heat and the strings were cut. She lay splayed and pliant and he fucked her slowly, languidly, and her contented sighs were the sweetest fucking thing he had ever heard.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight variation on a canon scene because those pendants sound impractical, and my imagination going places probably best unexplored.

“What the fuck just happened?” Eve stared at the closed door in horror.

“I think we just announced our engagement.” Bull was still lying back on the bed, casually naked.

“How did they even know I was here? Aren't there locks? Don't people _fucking knock?”_ She fell back on the mattress.

“Could be worse, boss. A few minutes earlier and you'd have been naked, too. A bit before that and they'd have seen you with my cock halfway down your throat. Or your ankles hooked over my horns. Or on all fours with - “

“Thanks, Bull, those things did occur to me.”

“To be fair, the horns thing was my idea.”

“Bull!” She threw her arms over her eyes. “A momentary diversion. Fuck.”

“Well, you showed her.” The bed creaked as he sat up. “And me.”

“You?” She turned her head to look at him. “What do you mean?” He was silent, and she struggled up onto her elbows. “You thought you were a momentary diversion?”

“Well, no. A distraction, maybe. Curiosity.”

“Curiosity?” Eve sat bolt upright. “What's left to be curious about? Why would you…?” Her rock. Her true anchor. The only one who saw when she was having trouble inside her skin and found a way to put her back together. A distraction? No.

“Hey.” He leaned in and kissed her, gentle and insistent. “What did you have to show me?”

“Oh.” She blushed now for an entirely different reason. “It's nothing.”

“Nothing is in a big, heavy package.”

“Well,” she said, indicating the bulky object propped against the wall. “See for yourself.”

Bull rose to retrieve the package, and she admired the steely gleam of his body, the silverite tracing of scars. He turned and saw her eyes on him, grinned and flexed a little before returning to the bed. Ties unwrapped, leather unbound and there it was, the secret work of weeks in the undercroft, materials gathered over months from the far corners of Orlais and Ferelden.

“Boss.” Even in the dim light of his room above the tavern, the greataxe gleamed. “This is a thing of beauty.”

“You like it?” Eve drew her legs up under her, delighted.

His eye shone as he stroked the length of it. “It's...is this a rune?”

“Against demons. I know you hate them.”

“Is that dragon’s tooth?” A pearlescent shine between the twin blades.

“Yes…”

“From the Hinterlands?”

She remembered the fight. The roar, the sulphurous gust of air, the burst of flame so close to her face. The hot spray of blood over her and the feral glint in his eye that persisted when they cleaned themselves off in the pool below camp. Grew stronger when he saw her undershirt cling wet to her body and he drew her behind the rocks, hands and knees in the dirt and his fingers digging into her shoulders, yanking her back as he thrust forwards and white light exploding behind her eyelids.

“Yes,” she said. “That one. I've got the other half.” She drew out a dagger, new and shining and wickedly curved, hilt inlaid with dragon’s tooth. “I know it's not what you said, but…”

“This is so much better than a pendant.” Bull looked at the axe like he didn't know whether to swing it or fuck it. Then the slow curve of his lip was all for her. “I'm going to need you to get undressed again.”

“I had a war council meeting…”

“Which you just had.” The rake of his eye over her body made her feel she was already naked. “Unscheduled. Now strip.”

What could she say to that? They could wait. He couldn't. _She_ couldn't. She unlaced her boots, stood and drew down her leggings.

“Is this dawnstone?”

“Yes.” She smiled shyly, shrugging her tunic off, bare underneath. “I remembered you said you liked it, but it's too brittle for a blade. So I had Harric work it into the haft.”

Bull grinned, pleased. “On the bed.”

She lay back, arms above her head by force of habit, and the soft rope was looped around her wrists and drawn taut.

“Kadan,” he murmured, lips brushing her neck.

“Kadan?” She rose into him and he pressed her down with a hand on her chest, fingers spanning her wide enough to brush both nipples.

“Kadan.” He smiled, a smile that squeezed her lungs and sent a tendril of warmth down between her thighs. “My heart.”

Joy made her laugh out loud, even as his deft fingers bound her ankles, spread her legs wide. My heart.

“This is a fucking beautiful haft.” He stood over her, axe pointing down. “So round. So smooth.” Watched her spreadeagled on the bed, caressing the weapon in a way that made her suddenly uneasy.

“Bull?” The ropes were firm.

“I really need to test this,” he said. “Make sure it fits right in my hands. Make sure I can get it dirty, and wipe it clean.” The low rumble of his voice sent another flood of arousal to her exposed cunt.

She wriggled against her bindings. “You're not serious.” 

“OK, you got me.” He ran a thumb up the haft. “What if I said I really want to see what it looks like when I fuck you with my new axe?”

She was so open, so terribly open and so, so ready. “I'd say you're depraved.”

“You'd be right." He climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs. "How about you, Kadan?”

All she knew was ragged breath, quivering thighs.

"Wait," she gasped. "Wait."

Cool metal kissed her wet lips.

“You know the word?”

Katoh. Eve, Eve, what are we doing? She nodded.

It pressed into her. Only the width of two of Bull's fingers but hard, unyielding.

She felt herself stretched in new ways, not entirely comfortable. Then the haft rested inside her and she breathed fast and shallow, letting her body adjust to the invasion.

“How you doing, Kadan?” The word was still new but it soothed her, made the new sensation less alien. She nodded, wordless. Another nudge, a little further in.

Bull let out a low, deep growl of satisfaction. “You look beautiful.” He drew it back, and the pressure returned. Pushed in, and there was the hint of pleasure, a promise of things to come. She did her best to relax around the cool hardness but at each movement she had to adjust anew.

“Fuck, Bull…”

“What do you need, Kadan?”

“I need…” Her head fell back and she arched, held fast by the ropes. His thumb found her clit and she gasped, impossibly grateful.

Now she was comfortably full, anchored by his hand on her thigh and driven to frantic gasps by the slide of the object inside her and the slow circling of his thumb. She cried out, high and loud, and her cunt clenched around the haft. But he wasn't done. He kept up a steady rhythm, pressing the hard metal into her, now warmed by her body. “I got you, Kadan. I got you.”

Then it was gone and she cried out at the loss, at once ashamed and shameless. Her ankles were unbound and firm hands turned her body over. Wrists crossed in front of her, knees drawn up to her elbows and once more the foreign object pressed at her entrance.

“You want it?”

“Yes.” Whose voice was that, breathy and trembling? “Please, yes.”

“You know what to do.” It was held steady, angling upwards, and she rolled back, took it inside herself. His hand stroked her back and he murmured soft words of encouragement as her hips rocked back and forth. It was a burn, a sweet agony.

When she was almost certain she couldn't take any more the hard length was drawn out and his cock pressed in instead, rigid and blunt but silky soft in comparison, fucking with the same rhythm, the same depth but impossibly gentle and wonderful. Fingers reached around between her legs and they came as one, a scream and a roar, a spurt of warmth and a pulsing, fluttering embrace.

Naked and drained and shameless. Untied, gathered up, held and soothed and loved.

Kadan, Kadan, Kadan. My heart.


	10. Chapter 10

“Read it to me again.”

“Ugh. Why?” Eve was sprawled on her bed in the morning sun, belly down and nightshirt rucked up around her thighs. The hated letter was discarded on the opposite pillow.

“I just want to make sure I didn't miss anything.”

“Read it yourself, Ben-Hassrath,” she mumbled into the pillow. “I can tell you what it says, anyway. Dear Eve bla bla, spoke to your ex-fiancee and would-be rapist, very disappointed etc, some misunderstanding bla bla, needed here for reasons unknown, be a good girl and come home, Mama.” She made a disgusted noise. “Ma _ma_ , really?”

He was scanning the neat rows of handwriting, a small frown on his face. “Red couldn't have waited til after Adamant to give you this?”

Eve kicked her legs in the air lazily. “She's not allowed to keep anything from me any more. Inquisitor’s orders.”

Bull sat next to her. “I just don't want you thinking about this when we're out there kicking demon ass.”

“Have you ever known me to be distracted?” She looked at him over her shoulder and shifted her hips on the mattress, inched her knees a little farther apart.

“I…” His hand slid up the back of her thigh. “What were we talking about, Kadan? I don't remember.”

She rolled onto her back, bit her lip as if confused. “You know, I have no idea. I normally have such a good memory, too.” She toyed with the neck of her nightshirt. “It can't have been very important, or - “ Big hands seized her ankles and dragged her down the mattress, and it really was forgotten.

Until later, when he asked, “What's your answer going to be?” and she dropped the paper into a drawer of her desk and pushed it shut with a decisive thud.

“Nothing.”

 

For the first time she rode at the head of her army. The mountains gave way to countryside, scorched and marked by war, and finally they rode through the bleak nothingness of the Western Approach, the sun beating down like vengeance upon their armoured bodies.

They joined the forward camp, a small city of tents surrounding an oasis, ringed with sharp pikes like a quillback. The Inquisitor’s own tent sat by the water’s edge, large enough to stand in upright and appointed with a cot bed and washstand. Eve was too saddle-weary and travel-soiled to even complain of the frivolity. She was happy just to peel back the sweaty layers and run a soaked cloth over her skin, sending red rivulets of dirt-stained water to pool around her feet.

Respite was brief. Time after that to don clean clothes and tour the camp, inspect the fortifications, admire the siege engines, most importantly be seen by her soldiers. They were as sapped as she by the relentless sun, and had trepidations about fighting Grey Wardens. All were old enough to have some memory of the last blight and the Hero of Ferelden’s sacrifice. She did what she could to ease their fears and keep her own well hidden. By sundown she had given so much to her people, she felt smaller and smaller. _Maker, protect them, I am not strong enough._

But full dark brought her tent, and Bull. Huge, and powerful, and solid, and _real,_ and suddenly she felt they could face anything.

Sheets were plundered from the narrow cot bed and spread on the ground, and they spread themselves on top of that, bathed in the soft glow of a handheld lantern.

“Can't sleep.” She knew she should rest, the last night before battle.

“Worried?” Bull raised himself onto an elbow and ran soft fingers down her side. She squirmed and batted ineffectually at his hand.

“Aren't you? Demon army, and all that?”

A soft grunt from the Qunari. “Thanks for the reminder. I wasn't thinking about that.” She was clad only in her smallclothes and breastband, and he reached around the latter to find its fastening. “I was thinking about siege towers.” The fabric unspooled and he drew it into his hand. “And _battering rams_.”

“I should have known better.” She shifted restlessly on top of the sheet. “But it was more to do with it being too fucking hot to sleep.”

He eyed the movement of her body in appreciation, fingering the length of fabric. “Back in a moment, Kadan.”

The tent flaps parted and she lay back, exhausted and bathed in sweat but with anticipation building between her thighs.

He returned and knelt above her, holding the cloth now dampened in the waters of the oasis. A trickle ran over her neck, another quick and tingling between her breasts. Water pooled in her navel, licked a cool path between her lower lips, serene and soothing.

“Better?” She was beautifully aware of the way her body twisted and shivered, his appreciative eye lingering on her sweat-slicked tits and her soaked smallclothes. Shamefully, all she could manage in response was a low moan.

Damp cloth pressed against her eyes, a blessed relief.

“Do you remember when I said one day you'd touch yourself for me?” Her head was lifted and a knot tied at the base of her neck. “I think now is the time.”

“Bull…” It was little more than a whisper.

“Tits first, Kadan.” Her hands drifted to her breasts, cupping them, fingers sliding over dampened skin. “That's good.” His praise touched something deep within her cunt, left it trembling like a lute string plucked. She drew her taut nipples between her fingers. She couldn't see him, but he was watching. Appraising.

“Lower.” One hand drifted down and slipped into her smallclothes. Brushed short, coarse hair, kissed by water. Slid through slick folds, a finger curling inside, the other hand squeezing her breast. Then flying to her mouth, muffling her cry when she remembered the rows of encamped soldiers around them.

“I got it, Kadan.” Her wrist was grasped gently, her hand moved back down to her chest. “You're not done there, yet.” And as she uncertainly toyed with her breasts, his fingertips pressed against her lips.

Her mouth opened and took his rough fingertips inside, her tongue swirling around them. It filled her senses, her fingers sliding over her slick breasts, the other hand exploring her warm, wet centre, his fingers pushing obscenely in and out, fucking her mouth. She felt herself close to the edge, moaning around him.

“Come for me, Kadan,” and her fingers changed pace, drew the dampness up from her core and moved fast against her clit, rolling it between her fingers, pulsing quicker until she shattered. Usually when she touched herself her peak was a gentle thing, a soft wave of release. But with his eyes on her, his fingers still moving against her tongue, it hit her like a flood.

She was still trembling with the aftershocks when she felt her smallclothes tugged down over her ankles, felt herself lifted, positioned between his legs with her sweat-slicked back pressed against his chest.

“That was everything I thought it would be,” he growled in her ear, “and more.”

She felt his rigid shaft between her thighs and she rolled her hips, sliding it slickly along her dampened slit. "Still thinking about battering rams?"

"Well I am _now_."

He angled her hips to push inside her with a growl, and this time his hand pressed over her mouth, muffling her wanton cries as he fucked to her completion and beyond.

 

Later, Bull made one last trip outside to fill the washing basin. When he returned he bathed her sweaty, sticky skin with cool water, then worked at her tense muscles until she was drowsy and boneless.

An army of demons before them tomorrow, but now it was time for deep and dreamless sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for consensual non-consent

Frosty air from the open door chilled her skin to goosebumps, lungfuls of cold slowed her racing heart and numbed the sickness in her belly. One more step and she could stand on the balcony and look out over the moonlit Frostbacks. The night air could surround her and banish the demons. One more step, and the balcony could fall from under her feet and she would be suspended in air for less than a heartbeat before plummeting towards the ground. _If I died this instant..._

“Kadan.”

The bed groaned as he sat up. She turned, forced a smile for him. “I’m fine, Bull.”

“Come back to bed. You’ll freeze.”

“I can’t. I’ll…” Fall. Close her eyes, drift towards sleep and then there’d be a sickening lurch as the ground shattered and vanished, everything she loved plummeting into the abyss and she’d be jolted wide awake with her skin crawling. “I can’t.” She wished she was more like him, able to take a beating and move on unscathed.

He rose and surrounded her with his warmth. “Talk to me, Kadan.”

“I will, Bull. But not right now.”

“What do you need now?” He rested his chin on top of her head.

“Just this.” Just this. Solid, strong. A fortress around her.

 

“Solas.”

The apostate turned from his contemplation of the wall. If he was surprised at her intrusion, his face gave nothing away. “My friend.”

“I was wondering...about the anchor. You said the magic was elven.”

“Yes.”

“And…” she turned her palm, seemingly empty and unscarred. “My memory loss, it’s something to do with this?”

“I believe so.” His too-knowing gaze flickered to her hand and back to her face. “You had some memories restored, did you not? In the Fade.”

Falling, falling. Then just before the ground hit everything lurched and shifted, like the end of a nightmare, but it was just the beginning. She shuddered. “Yes, but I thought...when she said my memories would be restored, I was hoping for something more comprehensive.”

The earliest was muttered voices behind a door. _Not right, she should be alone. Another chance might not come..._ beyond that memory shattered and scattered, glass skittering over a stone floor and out of her grasp. What little she did hang onto was sharp and cutting and her mind recoiled from it. The spirit that was Divine Justinia and yet not, peering into her soul with sharp eyes.

Sharp eyes now, watching her face. She must be wary. Only one person had her complete trust, and it wasn’t Solas. It wasn’t even herself.

“Do you know much about it? The kind of magic that causes memory loss?”

“Very little that would be of use.” He took a seat, fingers steepled in front of his chin, regarding her as he would a curious artifact. “It is hardly our most pressing concern right now.”

Her temper flared. “Well, do excuse me for wasting the Inquisition’s time with my trivial concerns. We certainly haven’t gone out of our way to help anyone else.” It was a cheap shot - his friend they had endeavoured to rescue had, after all, not survived the ordeal. But Solas was immediately contrite.

“I apologise, Inquisitor. The gravity of our mission can sometimes cause me to become...single-minded. Of course when all is resolved, I will lend my full assistance towards your recovery.” He saw something in her face then, and raised an eyebrow. “Assuming of course, that is your goal?”

“Do you think…” she cleared her throat nervously. “If she returns, the person I was before, will I still be here? And if I let her go, let her stay lost - it’s like theft, isn’t it? Or murder. Taking a life, in the most literal sense.”

The mage’s face softened in sympathy. “It speaks well of you that you would ask these questions.” He reached and took her hand, and it was unlike him enough to startle her. “I cannot provide the answers you seek. But if the time should come to make a choice, I trust in your wisdom.”

 

 _Wisdom_. The word was bitter in Eve's throat as the door to her quarters closed behind her. Where was wisdom to be found, faced with a woman who demanded execution for following orders? Where was right and wrong? How was she ever to know if she'd made the right choice?

“The warden?” He’d have known she’d need him here. Sitting in judgement almost always left her shaken and full of self-doubt. She nodded.

“I sent her to the Deep Roads. And she hated me for it. It wasn’t punishment enough.”

“Imagine that, someone so twisted up inside they look for punishment.” Bull took her in his arms and she rested her head on his chest. “Almost reminds me of someone.”

“I’m not the one standing in the yard yelling at people to hit me with a stick,” she muttered, and felt his chuckle vibrate against her cheek.

“Guess we’re perfect for each other, then.”

Her arms tightened around him, not meeting at his back. “How can I judge people? We don’t know what kind of person I am. What I’ve done.”

Bull stayed silent. Waiting, she realised.

“Bull…” She tilted her face to look at him, saw worry in the set of his mouth, the softness in his single eye.

“You need something, Kadan.”

She did. Since Adamant, perhaps before. Now more than ever. “You’re supposed to know what I need.”

“I do.” His hands drifted to the small of her back. “But this...this is ugly. I need you to come at this yourself.”

A shiver ran through her. “I don’t know how to ask.”

“Try.”

It was ugly. Ugly, and dark, and wrong. “I need to be powerless. Helpless.”

“But you’re not talking about being tied up.” There was no judgement. She almost wished for it. She deserved judgement. Disgust, derision.

“No.” It came out almost a whisper.

“What, then?”

Not _rape_. Rape was the ugliest word possible. The ugliest act. Rape was violence, invasion, cruelty. There had been no thrill in the way she’d been pinned to that bed, even the man who’d thrown her there was acting out a display of power, trying to claim her body as his. It was a weapon used all too often in war and out of war, and they’d both seen enough of its aftermath not to want to trivialise it. What she needed wasn’t about sex, not really, but neither was it about violence. It was about giving up control. Surrendering power.

“I need to know there’s nothing I can do.” She picked her words carefully. “I need to fight back, and be overpowered. I need to feel weak now, so I can be strong when I need to be.”

“Good, Kadan.” Pride, that she’d gotten there on her own. “But the word still works.”

Katoh. She nodded.

“Now?” He released her and stood back.

“Now.”

A silence grew between them. His face was unreadable, and she felt the first stirrings of trepidation under that dispassionate gaze.

He fell upon her like a wild animal. She was crushed to his chest, his tongue plundering her mouth, arms trapped between them. Wild panic seized her and she fought, unable even to squirm in the shackles of his grasp. Tried to turn her face away and he gripped her hair to hold her in place as he continued what couldn’t really be called a kiss, more an invasion of her mouth, rough and hard and demanding.

His hand left her waist to fumble at her tunic fastenings and she was freed enough to struggle in earnest, pushing him away, trying to keep him from baring her body. He was immovable, relentless. Her hands were batted aside as if they were weightless.

She whimpered as he forced her to the floor.

“Don’t,” she pleaded. “You don’t have to do this.” Cold as her tunic was jerked open. He sat back on his knees, regarded her bared body like she was a rabbit ready for skinning.

Sensing an opening, she twisted and broke free, fingers scrabbling desperately at the floor. No distance at all before a hand closed vice-like over her calf and she was dragged back, sobbing.

Still she clawed at the rug, breathless, desperate for escape. A hand pressed between her shoulderblades and she was pinned hard to the floor.

All the while he was silent. He could have taunted her, could have detailed all the unspeakable ways in which he would use her helpless body. But it was inevitable, and they both knew it. He was going to fuck her. There was nothing to be done about it.

Tears wet her cheeks. She was turned roughly again onto her back and she fought, hit and scratched and pushed but she could have been fighting the approach of the tide for all she slowed his progress. Bared now to her thighs, legs driven open, shoulders gripped in massive hands pushing her down, holding her still.

A hand clapped over her mouth to hide her scream as he forced himself inside her.

Too much, too full, too big. She felt stretched and burned. Worse, she was wet, so shamefully wet. She was horrified at how readily her body betrayed her, eased the way for his invasion. For an invasion it was, hard and efficient and utterly without mercy. His hand found her shoulder again, her mouth was uncovered but she couldn’t scream, every quick thrust drove the breath out of her lungs. Still she fought him, her blows against his chest growing weaker. He didn't care. There was a cold detachment in his eye. Her kadan was not here now, there was just this colossal body pinning her to the floor, breathing hard, giant hands holding her thighs apart as his hips slammed against her. 

At last he growled and pulled out. She sagged in relief, too soon. Rough hands seized her and propelled her to the bed, bent her forwards and he took her again, deeper and faster, fingers digging hard into her hips. The pace he set was brutal, primal, vicious. His cock pounded into her over and over, claiming her, burning away all that she was. 

Time was nothing. Her body was useless, defenseless. Then her hips were raised and she felt one of those huge, unstoppable hands snaking beneath her.

“No,” she cried, but no sound came out. “No, not that. Please, not that.” But this, like all things, was inevitable. He found her clit and set the same unrelenting pace with his fingers, and tears leaked from her eyes as she felt the desire pool low in her belly, felt her traitourous cunt clench around him and her body shudder and writhe at the end of his cock, again and again. Betrayal, shame, wanton _whore_. It didn't need to be said. She knew what she was. Her body knew.

A fist in her hair pulling her head back painfully, a final blunt assault and his seed spurted inside her.

Withdrawal. Respite. Ragged breath, a slow trickle of seed down her thighs, tears down her face.

“Kadan.” Gently, so gently, he gathered her up and laid her on her side. “How you doing?” He stroked her tear-stained cheeks, his face etched with concern. 

“Good,” she whispered. “Better.”

He rose to fetch water and a cloth. She lay passive and still as he cleaned her face, her limbs, her bruised thighs. Infinitely tender, when he pressed the cool cloth against her battered sex.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered. “Why would that help? Why sort of person am I, to need that?”

“Hey.” Bull pressed her forehead to his. “No shame, remember? In here there’s no right, no wrong.” He wiped her tears away with the pad of his giant thumb. “You needed this, it doesn’t matter why.”

“Am I broken?” She should feel shame. She should feel soiled and wrong and ugly. All she felt was confusion and relief. Blessed, needed relief.

“You’re beautiful, Kadan.” Lips pressed gentle against hers. “You’re perfect.”

“I love you.” The words spilled out, she couldn’t say where from, and for a second terror seized her.

“I love you too.” And just like that, the fear was gone, and with it fled the confusion, and all she had was love and peace and a series of aches and bruises all over her body. He arranged her against his chest, her arms draped loosely around his neck, and murmured soft words of love and comfort.

 _Go away Eve,_ she whispered in her mind. _All this is mine._


	12. Chapter 12

“From Highever? Why would my mother be writing from…” Eve's mouth fell open. “She's not.”

“I am afraid so, Inquisitor.” Josephine handed her the missive. “The lack of response to her last message caused her some concern. She will arrive within the fortnight.”

“I won't be here. I'll still be on the Storm Coast.” Darkspawn incursions and a Red Templar stronghold - it didn't look to be a quick mission.

“We are attempting to convey as much to Lady Trevelyan, but having come so far I doubt she will be put off. I expect she will be waiting for you upon your return.”

“Wonderful,” Eve muttered, scanning the curtly penned text. “I do so love visitors from home.”

Some traitorous part of her mind whispered the word, _mother_.

 

“What's it like not having a mother?” she asked later, sprawled naked across Bull’s chest.

“You tell me, Kadan.” He traced lazy circles on her back. “What's it like not having a Tamassran?”

“Fair point,” she conceded. “My mother is coming to Skyhold.”

“Wait, what?” Bull tilted her chin up to look at her face. “When did this happen?”

“Found out this afternoon. She'll be here when we get back.”

He stroked blunt fingers through her hair. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don't know,” she said, eyes drifting shut as he caressed her neck. “She's a stranger. What little I do know doesn't do much to recommend her to me.” She traced the familiar map of scars on his chest. “But there's part of me that thinks it might be something worth having. A mother. A family. Is that stupid?”

“Come here.” Hands at her waist helped her slide up his body to bring their faces level. “Not stupid.” He pressed his forehead to hers and she felt a savage rush of love for her Tal-Vashoth protector. “You do what you need to do. I'll be there.”

She traced his lips with her thumb and he smiled, warming her troubled heart. “I guess we meet my mother, then.”

 

The Storm Coast. Camped by the beach, a moment's respite from trudging up and down mountains, in and out of caves. Inside the tent all was dim and grey, smelling of wet canvas and sex.

“Do you feel that?” Eve murmured.

“Oh yeah.” On his back with her speared on his cock, how could he not feel it? Straddling him spread her legs impossibly wide, gave him the most beautiful view of the place where their bodies joined, the base of his shaft sliding wetly in and out of the pink lips beneath her dark curls.

“Not that.” She arched her back, smirked a little at his hungry gaze on her tits. “Storm's coming.”

He could feel it then, the slow build of electricity in the heavy air. “That's why they call it the Storm Coast.” His calloused fingertips caught at her peaked nipples and he saw the shiver travel through her body.

“Remember the day we met?” Her hips rolled over him like the ocean, drawing him deeper inside her slick warmth.

“How could I forget?” Daggers flashing, the spray of blood on her face. “I wanted to take you right there. Rip off your armour and push your face into the sand and fuck you senseless.”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that went straight to his dick, made him buck up into her. “What stopped you?”

“There were a few other things going on at the time.” His thumbs found the join of her hips and thighs, pressed in and she moaned, clenching around him. The first fat drops of rain spattered against the canvas.

“Faster,” he growled, and she sped up her sinuous movements. There was a crack of thunder not far away and it began to rain in earnest, loud and fierce around them. His thumb found her clit and she buckled and came apart, sobbing his name against his chest. The storm hid his answering roar.

“That was good, Kadan,” he murmured into her hair as she lay soft and breathless, his cock still inside her. "So good."

 

In the night the storm still raged and he woke to find an empty blanket.

“What are you doing?” She stood, clad in just her undertunic and jacket, watching the play of electricity over the rain-swept ocean. Her head was soaked, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand. He wrapped himself around her chilled body.

“Couldn't find quiet.” The words were almost lost in the onslaught of wind and water.

“You won't find it out here.” He knew that wasn't the kind of quiet she meant. It was true that there was a kind of peace to be found in the rage of nature, even if water had begun to trickle inside his eye patch.

“We're almost done,” she said. “Nearly time to go home.” He didn't have to ask to know she meant Skyhold. His arms tightened around her.

“Scared?”

Her dripping head rested back against him. “Yes.”

“We'll work up to it,” he promised. “Templars, then we find that dragon. Then your mother.”

She turned and pressed her lips against his wet chest. “Kadan.”

He held her close, the eye in the storm.

 

“Evie.” She was a tall woman, stately. Fair hair streaked with grey piled on top of her head.

What to call her? Eve settled on “Lady Trevelyan.” A small bob of her head, something like a curtsey. If the formality bothered her guest, she didn't let it show.

“It's been a long time, my dear. You look…” a small pause, a glance at her boyish hair, her informal garb, “...well.”

“Thank you,” Eve said. Then, inanely, “So do you.”

Lady Trevelyan’s eyes flickered to Josephine, hovering by her desk. Josie picked up on the hint and looked to Eve for permission. “Let me fetch you some drinks, Inquisitor. Tea, perhaps?”

“Thank you, Josephine.” She vanished in a rustle of gold skirts.

“Lady Montilyet has been most accommodating.” Her mother smoothed her skirts, crossed her hands in her lap. “I hear the Montilyet family have done quite well out of this...arrangement.”

“Josephine does good work for us.” There was no reaction to her use of _us_ ; perhaps Lady Trevelyan was schooled in the game, or perhaps she was less bothered than people imagined to see her youngest daughter in the company of rebels and heretics.

“Indeed, she seems very competent. She did a great deal to ease my disappointment when I found you absent.”

If she fished for an apology, she would get none. “We endeavoured to let you know that I'd be gone from Skyhold,” she said. “It was rather short notice, after all. My duties often require that I travel.”

“Ah yes, your _duties_.” It was the sort of smile you'd use when humouring a child. “Inquisitor. How very odd to think of our little Evie carrying such a title.”

Eve kept her expression carefully neutral. “May we discuss the purpose of your visit, Lady Trevelyan?”

“Won't you call me Mama?” She leaned forward earnestly. “As to my purpose, well of course I wanted to see you, my dear. One hears such...rumours.” Her glance took in the crumbling masonry, and Eve felt a stab of satisfaction that the needed repairs hadn't yet taken place. “And of course poor Roland was beside himself. He made it sound like you were quite a prisoner here.”

“You can see that's not the case.” _Josie, please hurry back._

“Indeed.” Her mother fixed shrewd eyes on her face. “But what has gone wrong between the two of you? Your Papa and I are most upset.”

“Lord Orrick was asked to leave.” She clenched her fist, not caring if Lady Trevelyan noticed. “After he attacked me.”

“A misunderstanding, I'm sure - “

“I can assure you there was no misunderstanding.” She wasn't going to spell it out. The other woman's lips thinned in disapproval, and she opened her mouth to speak just as Josie bustled into the room with a tray.

Eve rose to help. “You didn't have to fetch it yourself, Josephine.” Let her ladyship know they were properly staffed, disrepair or no.

“It was no trouble, Inquisitor.” For once the title was a welcome one, a shield to hide behind. _I'm not your little Evie, Mama._ _There's only one person I belong to._ She made no attempt to hide the smile that played about her lips, thinking of the mark left by his teeth on the swell of her breast.

The diplomat seated herself farthest from the fireplace. Eve sighed. She should be kind, if only for Josie's sake. Diplomatic. Time for a peace offering.

“I have some questions, if you don't mind.” She smiled at Lady Trevelyan over the rim of her teacup.

“Of course, my dear.”

“What's it like, where I grew up?” She couldn't bring herself to call it _home._

“Ostwick? It's charming. Not so cultured as Orlais, perhaps.” By implication, this particular part of Orlais was excluded. “But the area is quite pretty. Green, and wooded. The estate in springtime is simply lovely, when the fruit trees are in blossom and the garden blooms. If you would only come and see it, my dear, I am sure…”

Eve didn't pursue that line of conversation. “And what about me?” she asked, somewhat nervously. “Will you tell me what I was like, before?”

Mama’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. “What is there to tell? You were a sweet girl. An obedient girl.” Her cup met the saucer with a clatter. “I see no point in skirting the issue. We wish you to come home.”

“That will not happen, while the Inquisition's work continues. Besides,” she met Lady Trevelyan’s annoyance with a level gaze, “this is the only home I know.”

“This?” She sat bolt upright. “This...ruin? Surrounded by apostates, and elves, and savages?” Her voice rose in pitch with her outrage. “Don't be ridiculous, Evie. You must come back to Ostwick where people are respectable, abandon this nonsense adventure. Your first duty is to your family.”

Eve stood. “Lady Trevelyan _._ As you are no doubt aware, I have no memory of you, or any members of your family. This is my family now. Including the apostates and elves. And especially the savages.” The noblewoman glared, struck dumb with anger. “You are welcome to stay longer, or return to Ostwick. But let me make it quite clear, I will not be going with you.”

“Well I never.” An icy calm had settled over her. “Your father will hear of this.”

“I assumed as much.” Eve spared an apologetic glance for Josie, sitting nonplussed on the edge of her seat. “Now if you'll excuse me, I really don't have time for this shit.”

“Ahem. More tea, Lady Trevelyan?” she heard before the door closed behind her and she released a shaking breath. Time to find her _savage_ , and let his rebel hands wander all over Evie Trevelyan.


	13. Chapter 13

“What's this scar?” Bull traced the raised pink line with his fingers, diagonal across her back.

“I don't know.” All Eve knew was that it made her skin crawl. “It's from before.” She changed the subject. “I think she knows.”

He chuckled. “She saw me slap your ass in the courtyard, I think it might have been a giveaway.” His hand stroked the round curve of her buttocks. “Which I'm pretty sure was your plan.”

“You got me.” She inched her thighs apart. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Mmm, Kadan." He squeezed her cheeks. “Nothing you want your mother to know about, that's for sure.” A firm slap made her cry out in surprise. Then his fingers dipped into her heat and her cries changed tenor. A smack on her other cheek and wetness coated his fingers. 

Bull leaned down, his chest covering her back and his gruff voice close to her ear, his fingers still pumping inside her. "I could make you come like this, Kadan. Or I could spread you wide and fuck you into the mattress. What do you like the sound of?" 

She was already breathing fast, her fingers bunching the sheets. "I like both," she gasped. 

He chuckled and finished her off with a few deft strokes. "You're the boss." 

 

“I don't know the cipher,” said Leliana. “All we know for now is that it was intercepted en route from Skyhold, and the messenger chose to fight to the death rather than be captured.”

Eve looked at the snaking black marks with a growing sense of unease. “ _From_ Skyhold? That's not good. Let me know as soon as you break it.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. We have our best people on it.”

“And…” she felt guilty even asking. “My mother?”

“No suspicious activity.” The spymaster's lips curved just a fraction. “Yet.”

“Thank you, Leliana.” For her work, and for understanding her need to spy on her only relative near enough to see. “I'll see you later.”

 

Lady Trevelyan was like a lingering disease. A black cloud hanging over Skyhold, shooting bolts of lightning at anyone who displeased her.

There were not many who didn't displease her. Cassandra was too progressive, too manly, Varric too dwarven. Dorian a mage, a Tevinter and, she suspected, a sexual deviant. Cullen as a Templar could be tolerated, but as an ex-Templar less so. Cole and Solas managed to avoid her entirely, which was for the best. Sera might have been forgiven for being an elf if she only knew her place and Bull was, clearly, unacceptable in every way even before it became clear that he was bedding her daughter.

And yet, she wouldn't leave.

Eve had given up trying to extract more details of her childhood, her personality, even her family. Mama was single-minded in her focus, and her focus was on returning Eve to Ostwick.

“The Arbor Wilds, mother.” She gritted her teeth in frustration. 

“Why in the world would you go there?” Lady Trevelyan’s lips pursed in disapproval. “Surely your...organisation...has people they could send in your place.”

“No. This is my job.” Eve bit her thumbnail, earning her a _tsk_ of genteel displeasure. “Please, won't you go home? It must be tedious for you here.”

“On the contrary, my dear. It's most entertaining. Such colourful characters you have surrounded yourself with.” Her sarcasm could have stripped the scales from a wyvern.

“Suit yourself.” Eve pinched the bridge of her nose before rising. “I leave in the morning. I will see you when I return, if you're still here.”

“Oh, Evie.” Her mother smiled. “I will be here.”

 

“Lady Nightingale.” The scout was breathless. “We've cracked it.”

Maker, why now? The Inquisitor was miles away in Skyhold and they were still making the slow journey back from the Arbor Wilds. “Show me,” Leliana said. She scanned the deciphered document in seconds and leapt to her feet. “Crows, now, to Skyhold. Bring me ink and paper!”

She'd been a fool not to see this coming.

 

Bull watched Eve walk the ramparts with her mother. She seemed a little less frosty since they got back from the Arbor Wilds. To Eve, anyway. Something about the whole situation made his horns itch.

“The Iron Bull.” Cole had somehow appeared next to him on the stairs.

“What can I do for you, Cole?” The kid was weird, but he was OK.

“Who is she?”

Here came some crazy, cryptic mind-reading thing. “Who is who?”

“Her.” Cole pointed up at the ramparts. “The one who pretends she's Eve's mother.”

“Fuck.” Bull was up and running.

 

 _Elimination difficult, not impossible,_ read the translated missive. _Extraction may be possible from different location._ It continued, _However, believe she is compromised beyond salvation. Death is best._

 

A shift in weight, the slightest tensing of muscles. She saw it coming before the flash of the blade, and this time she didn't freeze. Just the barest scratch nicked her skin.

“Wait.” Somehow she was standing on the ramparts, her own dagger digging into her mother's ribs. The older woman's lips curled in a triumphant smile. “Why…?” _Why are you smiling? You've lost._ Her vision swam and her throat was dry.

There was shouting, a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. Scouts grabbed Lady Trevelyan and bore her to the ground, blood beginning to soak the rich fabric of her gown.

Eve swayed, staggered, was caught just before she fell. “I'm sorry, Kadan.” Bull? Everything was hazy. “I'm so sorry.”

 

Poison. Her skin burned. Healers surrounded her, magic invaded her organs and potion after potion was forced down her throat. She drifted in agony.

“Kadan.” The single word dragged her, unwilling, back to reality. “You'll get through this.” His fingers twined through hers. “I promise, get through this and I'll lick you raw. I'll fuck you til you can't walk straight. I'll make you come until you wish you'd died. Don't die, Kadan.”

For him, then. For him, she would not die.

 

She was still weak when she finally faced her attacker. The would-be assassin had been patched up, healed where Eve's dagger had slipped between her ribs. She was lucky it wasn't poisoned like her own. If a mere scratch could bring Eve close to the Maker's side, imagine what a tainted blade could do when it dug into muscles and viscera.

“Who are you?” The imposter smiled, as composed as if the underground dungeon was Josephine’s sitting room.

“They want to torture you, you know.” She crossed her arms to hide the shaking of her hands. “I told them that's not how we do things.” No reaction.

“Did you hurt them?” She had to know. “Did you do something to my parents?”

At this, the woman finally reacted. She smiled. Then laughed.

“Oh, Evie. Of course I didn't hurt your family.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “Who do you think sent me, you stupid bitch?”

By Eve’s side, Leliana broke her silence. “We have less power in the Free Marches, Inquisitor. But we can look into this. Uncover the conspiracy, if one exists, and being your family's involvement to light.”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Spymaster.” Noble even in roughspun prison garb, the prisoner held her head high. “If you bring down the Trevelyans, your precious Inquisitor will hang alongside them.”

The spymaster looked to Eve for instruction.

“Do nothing, for now. We have more pressing concerns than some scheming Marchers.”

“And the prisoner?”

“Treat her with the same dignity as all prisoners of the Inquisition.” It was Eve's turn to smile. “If she won't talk, she could be here for some time.”

They left the cells and began the long climb back to daylight. It was slow going in her weakened state.

“Leliana.”

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

Eve paused by the top of the stairs.

“I...if I tell you something, you won't have me killed?”

“Not immediately, no.”

“That's...fine.” She bit anxiously at her thumbnail. “I don't remember, still. It's just a feeling.”

Leliana was silent.

“I think perhaps...I think I was sent to the conclave to kill Divine Justinia.” That memory from the Fade. Creeping through the temple corridors, hunting her prey.

Leliana was silent.

“You knew?”

“No.” The spymaster took her hand in hers, an unexpectedly kind gesture. “But I suspected.”

“I told you not to keep anything from me,” Eve said, irritated.

“You did, Inquisitor. But this was nothing more than a suspicion.”

“What do we do?” Her mind skipped back to her earliest memory, shackled and bewildered. There would be a trial. Perhaps she would spend time in her own dungeon, next to the woman who had tried to assassinate her. That would be a fine irony. She should have waited, said a proper goodbye to Bull...

“Nothing.”

“What?” The word snapped her out of the self-pitying daydream. “How can nothing be the answer?”

“The Divine is dead,” Leliana said. “But we know you were not responsible.”

“But if I - “

“You have worked tirelessly for the Inquisition. What could possibly be gained now, by detaining you over a matter you don't even remember?”

Eve’s legs threatened to give way. “If I'm a killer…”

“We are all killers, Inquisitor.” It was true that her hands were stained with the blood of a thousand enemies, and those were just the deaths she remembered. “Since the Conclave you have done your killing for the good of Thedas. There is no point in dwelling on what came before.”

“So...what? I'm free?” It seemed too easy.

Leliana smiled. “What was it you said to Blackwall? Free to atone. You deserve no less mercy than you showed to him. Now come.” She opened the door, and sunlight spilled in from the courtyard. “We have work to do.”

 

“She's good with it?” Bull cupped her cheek. The firelight in her quarters transformed his scarred face into a strange and beautiful landscape, silver skin tinged with gold. Eve traced its contours with her fingertips.

“Seems so, if she's not secretly planning to have me killed.” She smiled. “We've agreed not to tell Cassandra.”

“Yeah, that's probably the right call.” His thumb ran lightly over her lower lip. “And what about your family? Think it's true?”

“Maybe? It doesn't matter.”

Bull placed heavy hands on her shoulders. “It does.”

“No.” She rested back against the wall and drew him towards her. “I don't know them anyway. I don't need them.”

He kissed her, looming and gigantic and impossibly tender. “They're your family, Kadan.”

“No,” she murmured. _“You're_ my family. You're my Kadan.”

He undressed her slowly. Soft fingers on her skin. Lips and tongue drawing on each of her bared nipples in turn. Her leg over his shoulder, her fingers curled around his horns as his tongue and fingers explored her cunt, doing everything he had promised in return for her life. If there was something else she should care about, it was hard to find.

 

It was a waiting game now.  Waiting for Corypheus to seek vengeance for his latest defeat. Waiting to see if the Trevelyans, or whatever shady network they were tied up with, would make a move. The prisoner had given away as much as she would, for now.

In the end it was Corypheus who struck first.

 

“So, Boss, looks like we're doing this.”

She felt a curious lack of trepidation, and Bull’s expression held the same excitement he usually reserved for dragons and giants.

“We're doing this.” Daggers seemed such a flimsy weapon at times, but Corypheus was not a god and he'd bleed like any mortal thing, man or monster. This time they'd leave him nowhere to hide. She pulled Bull’s head down for a savage kiss, and grinned wildly. “See you on the other side, Kadan.”

 

Broken. All was lost, and he could only cradle his shattered hopes in his hands.

“Solas?”

Eve. How he had wronged her, unleashing this magic on the world. He must leave now, but he had enough power to first make this one thing right. He slowly raised himself to his feet.

“Inquisitor.” She seemed surprised when he took her marked hand and turned her palm upwards. “Do you wish to remember?”

“I…” Hope and fear warred on her face. It was cruel to force this decision on her now, but there would be no other opportunity. The choice must be made, and it must be hers.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he closed his hand over the anchor.

 

Her head felt foggy, as if she'd overslept. All around was ruin and rubble and the stone was cold beneath her hands. Why did her body ache so? This armour...these were not her clothes.

“Kadan.” An alien word. She focused on the outstretched hand. It was huge and scarred, grey and grotesque with its missing fingers. Behind it a looming shape, the outline of horns. Qunari.

  
Eve screamed.


End file.
